


Fear

by catcusxx



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Buckys there, Gen, Or maybe just generally depressing, With his metal arm, holy shit that's a tag, lol, whats happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 21:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catcusxx/pseuds/catcusxx
Summary: With shaking fingers she picked up his file. There were many pictures, and in most of them - black and white through to colour, he looked the same. It was only in the first ones, the worn out black and white photocopies, where those sunken eyes and half-snarl, became a smile.James Buchanan Barns. The name was printed across the bottom. She knew already his nickname had been Bucky, if anyone was left alive to call him that.





	Fear

"Keep his vital signs and don't let him regain consciousness. We'll need blood samples and we'll have someone in to scan the arm." The woman said. She read off a clip board, although the list was small, and turned swiftly.   
Leah said nothing as the woman left the room, her heels clacking against the floor. Around her the room rattled, but the tank was still. Carefully, she measured the vital signs on the tank. They had made it so easy to operate on him again. To take what was left to take from this broken shell of a man.  
Would he scream, she wondered. The wall beside her contained pain killers, and much more powerful drugs. Leah only grabbed a needle, and fumbled with the latch on the containment tank. Her long ago bitten fingernails managed to hitch the latch, and she pried the door open. The air inside stank with disinfectant.   
She drew blood and shut the case quickly. Memories buzzed about her skull like gnats, and she swatted them away. The case for the blood samples was well padded, and she set the vial carefully inside.  
There was no change in the man, and with shaking fingers, she picked up his file. There were many pictures, and in most of them - black and white through to colour, he looked the same. It was only in the first ones, the worn out black and white photocopies, where those sunken eyes and half-snarl, became a smile.   
Even comatose and expressionless, she could see nothing of him in that photo. She watched as the needle prick in his arm disappeared, and marvelled at the human ability to heal. If only minds could heal as bodies could.   
Checking the vital signs again, Leah stepped back, shoving the file away and clicking the case shut. Everything was stored so the shaking of the train couldn't jolt it loose, but she double checked the moorings on the mans tank.   
James --- Barns. The name was printed across the bottom. She knew already his nickname had been Bucky, as if anyone was left alive to call him that.  
The rest of the surgeons came in and they set to work.  
The screams bothered her. The doctors around her sent her nervous glances every time another scream ripped from their patients throat. They needed her skill, but they didn't want to work with a dead person. Leah ignored them, biting her tongue. She could feel the skin break, but no blood flowed out. There was only the feeling of her teeth meeting through the flesh.   
The man screamed again, his entire body straining against the bonds. Sedatives would interrupt the procedure. She met his grey blue eyes, and straightened up, waving a bloody hand at the rest of the help.   
"You may leave now." She said in heavily accented German. It would destabilize the whole procedure, but nobody else knew that. She tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread to make her point. The others scurried out of the room.   
Leah breathed deeply, and peeled off her gloves. Perhaps he would stop screaming now.   
He did. Instead, he did something far worse; he spoke.   
"What're you gonna do now?" He rasped, trying to flex the fingers of his new arm.  
"Your nerve endings will need at least two days to connect." Leah said, cleaning up the workspace. Why did he talk? Why did he bare his teeth in that strange, snarling, smile?   
"So I have that long, do I? Those - You - crazys not done yet?" He broke off, his breath rasping through his throat, as scratchy of the stubble on his face.   
"They'll never be done with you." Leah said. She saw thinly contained panic flicker across his face, and his human fist clench against the bonds. She shrunk back, scared he would scream again.  
He remained silent, and something inside her snapped. 

ONE DAY LATER 

My body is awake before I am. Even before I've fully dragged myself from deep sleep, I can feel the cold biting at my limbs, and small hands skittering over my chest. It is the smell which forces my eyes open; the anti-septic smell, mixed with the cold, barely remembered scent of the mountains.  
The snow is already too bright for my eyes, and I groan. The person frisking me freezes, and then darts back.   
The only thing I can remember is the mission; with Steve on the train. I even think I can smell coal smoke - but it isn't Steve nearby.   
"Where am I?" I ask.   
"The train crashed... Everyone else is dead." Says the figure. I squint up at her, and find myself meeting a pair of dead, dark eyes.   
Then, the woman leans forwards and unbuckles me from something. I'm in a tank. I feel recognition overcome me, and I wheeze out another breath.  
"Space," I gasp, gesturing at her to get away. She lurches back, glass crunching under her knees, and I realise my arm is metal.  
It is then I remember where that arm came from, and worse, what it's - I've - done.   
"Please," she whispers, as I use my arm to prop myself up, "sit still - your chest, there is glass."   
There is blood everywhere, and pain has finally reached my artificially dulled sensors.   
"Fuck." My mind is whirling, a combination of blood loss and the feeling of many years worth of memories flowing back to me. "How did I-" I pause, and try swallow down the bile which has risen up my throat. "I was at S.H.I.E.L.D., how am I here?"   
The woman points at the logo on my tank. It takes me a moment to see the Hydra symbol hidden in the one of the manufacturer. The same logo is on her jacket.   
"No." I say, "you - you go. Leave me alone. I don't want to be part of whatever this-" I gesture at the burning train wreckage around us. Eyes that cold can only belong to a Hydra agent.   
"You'll die." She says.   
I laugh harshly - as if that matters anyway. "So will you." I spit.   
The woman lunges forwards, gripping at the glass in my chest. Even the modifications don't stop the pain, and, a credit to my creators, I black out.   
-  
The smell of smoke is what rouses me next. There are tree's closing me in a clearing, and the woman is kneeling in front of the fire, cooking something. I glare darkly at her, and manage to sit up.   
"I am not of Hydra." She says. Her voice is accented, but I can't tell with what.   
"No, you just wear their clothes." I say.   
"Everything belongs to them in the end." She mutters. "And you wear their arm."   
As if I needed reminding.   
I clench my fingers. There's a dent in one side now, and blood has seeped deep into the ridges - Old, rusty blood. My stomach turns and I slam my eyes shut.   
Hope is a strange thing, especially when it's unfounded. I've woken up in too many strange situations to count, and usually I've assassinated someone beforehand.   
So, I ask the dreaded question; "what happened?"   
"Hydra became aware of some of the effects their procedure could have - they wanted to conduct more experiments."   
"And who are you?"   
Her concentration is suddenly on the meat at the fire.   
"Who?" I insist.   
She finally shrugs. "I do not know." I keep my gaze on her. She doesn't meet my eyes, but I can tell she knows I'm looking. "My name is Leah." She offers finally.   
The name doesn't fit her - she is too cold, too foreboding. It's progress, I suppose. If I ever wanted to get to know her, I'd be happy - but I don't. She's too unsettling.   
"Where are we?" I ask.   
"Stop talking." She orders, her hands shaking. "Please... Just-"  
"No, you answer me!" I demand. I try sit, realising my chest is bandaged. I can feel the rest of the crash in my bones. There's a nasty bruise over my real arm.   
Leah's face is clear - no bruising marrs the ice pale skin. Her arms too - bare even though I can see my breath on the air - show no sign of the accident. So many red flags. I feel fear rise up in my throat, adrenalin making me shaky. I move quickly, gripping her neck tightly and slamming her against the nearest tree.   
"Where. Am. I?" I ask again. Although my metal arm must be cutting into her neck, she does nothing.   
"You cannot hurt me." She whispers.   
I tighten my grip, baring my teeth.   
"You cannot." She repeats. "I'm already dead."   
My face is so close to hers; I should be able to feel her breath on my cheek, but her exhale is no warmer than the air around her. I let go, and she lands on her feet.   
"I am one of Hydra's first." She says, and pushes past me, picking up the meat. I am left wondering if her skeletal features and dead eyes reflect my own.   
Slowly I turn and sit closer to the fire, taking in its warmth. I want to ask what they've done to her, but I know she's reliving the memories now, and her jaw is clenched shut against sharing them.  
We sit in silence. She's turning the meat more than she needs to, but I say nothing. The skin - a rabbit skin - is on the ground at her feet.  
"What are we going to do?" I ask. Suddenly I can see the reasons behind her actions, and the darkness in her eyes is fear.  
She gathers herself together, taking in a deep breath I doubt she needs, before gingerly taking the meat from the spit. It must have been hot, but she doesn't flinch, thrusting the meat at me as if hoping it will silence me.   
"We hide." She says. "Hyrda wants you - they believe your DNA would provide them with the means to create... Improved subjects."  
I shiver, remembering the last batch. The thought of them brings shadows to the forefront of my mind. I know I can pluck the nightmares from them if I try, but with some effort, I shove them away.   
"And why would you help?" I ask.   
She bites her lip, pushing wood onto the fire. There is a pressing silence. "I want to help." She says finally. "I have not helped anyone for a long time."  
"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it..." I mutter.   
"Come." She says suddenly, stamping out the fire. Almost as soon as we walk deeper into the forest I begin to shiver. Leah notices, and strips off her jacket.   
"I'm not wearing anything belonging to Hydra." I spit.   
"You'd rather wear a body bag?" She asks, pulling the jacket back on. "They will be looking for us." She states as she tramps ahead. "You were meant to be at their newest branch by now. Your blood samples would have already been processed."   
There is the mark of a needle on my wrist, and the slight bruising from the blood test.   
"I smashed them." Leah looks back, pointing at my mouth. "Your lips are going blue. I would advise a jacket."   
I am shivering violently. "Chivalry is dead." I decide, accepting the jacket from her. The interior of it is stone cold, and although underneath she's wearing only a thin thermal, she doesn't react to the cold.   
"So..." I consider my next question carefully, "what can you do?"  
"They technically killed me." She says, understanding my true question. What have they done to you?   
"Or... Parts of me. My body is kept from decomposing with this-" She tapped a glowing panel on the back of her neck. It had been hidden by her white hair before. "They couldn't splice my genes while my cells continued to multiply. I have good reflexes and I am fast... My nerve endings are dead too."   
A part of me wants to know why they didn't cut off my pain response entirely as well. Most of me is glad I'm still grounded by that one aspect of humanity. Leah speeds up again. I alter my pace slightly, wanting to be alone.   
"I know a cave near here," Leah says after a long pause.   
"How?" Suspicion wells up in me. I wonder what they've done to her mind - if it's as dead as her body.   
"I stayed here... A long time ago." She says, her voice dropping.  
"How long?" I ask sullenly.   
"Back in the 1930's." She says.   
"So you're - what - 60? 70?"   
She shrugs. "Probably."   
My head reels. It's strange, because I'm just as old - but even though her face is all angles - cheek bones jutting out, deep set eyes, thin lips - she acts so much younger. It doesn't even occur to me to ask how she fell into Hydra's hands.  
"We are here now." She tells me. We're at the foot of a huge tree, and the ground at its roots has been worn away to make a cave.  
"It'll be a tight fit..." I say. She shakes her head.  
"It is large inside. I do not like tight spaces."   
I know what she means. The prison cells and experiment rooms - if only my mind deteriorated like a normal 70 year olds.   
There is more space inside. After struggling through the tight entrance, I can stand, and even walk a few paces.   
I'm exhausted, but I keep a watch on Leah distrustingly.   
"I do not need sleep." She says finally, breaking the silence.   
"Great." I mutter. My eyelids are heavy, and the darkness in the cave doesn't help. I can only just see Leah's shape, silhouetted against the entrance. How did she get there? Is she trapping me in?   
To test, I move towards her, and although she meets my eyes, she slinks aside.   
I don't want to sleep. Sleep is when I'm vulnerable - when my body's open for attack. Sleep is when the nightmares come.   
Slowly, however, my eyes drift closed.   
\--  
It's happening again. I can feel everything - the needles burrowing into my skin, the scalpels tearing through flesh and the clamps slowly forcing bone apart. Worst of all are the words. The monotonous chant twists my mind, and my body writhes as I feel the sentence drawing to a close. My mind is slipping away.   
I try ignore him, try block out his voice. He talks as if he is summoning a demon, and really, he is.   
So I scream. I scream because if my own voice fills my ears, his cannot. Scream because I can feel my body being opened in a thousand places, and because when I next wake up, someone else will be dead, and Hydra will have won again. Because my screams will never drown out the voice. I can't breathe.   
And then I'm gasping. My eyes are wide open - I'm a deer in the headlights. Sleep flees but the dream doesn't. Tears mingle with sweat, because the words are on loop in my brain - repeating over and over again, and one more word and my control will stop.  
A hand is gripping mine, and finally I realise that Leah kneels in front of me. She's motionless but for her thumb, which caresses the palm of my hand.   
I bow my head, still gasping for air. The dream is burned into my mind, the words coming closer to completion than ever. Desperately, I burrow my metal fingers into the ground. I don't know how to make the thoughts stop.   
Leah strokes her hand over my shoulder, reaching for my metal one. In my panic, I snatch it - clutch it like a dying man. I can feel her skin give way to the sharp metal ridges, but the words carry on in my head, so I grip tighter. I am struggling against the inevitable.   
Suddenly Leah shift her weight, her face inches from my own.   
"Shhh," she says. I realise that her thumb moves on my metal hand too, although I can't feel it. A futile effort to calm me. Her mouth is inches from my forehead, and she shushes me again, as if silencing my thoughts.   
I lift my head slowly, and meet her eyes. I can feel a shift, and inexplicably, I trust her. Her eyes are not those of a dead person, but one scared to live again.

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll know where I planned to go with this... but apart from a possible 'love interest' I wanted to reveal where Ica came from... and it's not going to sound so good in an authors note, trust me.   
> So... Imagine in some alternate dimension (I wrote this before civil war so I didn't really know the whole 'wtf Cap why are you helping the guy that killed my parents?' argument. Also I knew nothing of Tony's mother...  
> Picture Tony and Steve out to find Bucky. Picture Ica fighting them because of course they're a threat. They have to be Hydra agents or something. And she's doing well - until Tony reveals his face. Then imagine Captain America's shield catching Ica in the stomach because she's stopped, and is staring at Tony.  
> And of course Tony says "well that worked better than expected," because he didn't have to give her the whole 'you'd better stop fighting' talk.   
> The impact of the shield knocks Ica back. The panel at the base of her neck is smashed and (Possibly at Bucky's insistence, idk, she helped him after all) she's brought back to base.   
> She's in surgery, the damage from Cap's shield being repaired. One other scar runs along her stomach. Natasha knows what it is. Picture the sadness across her face when she sees.   
> And Tony's a curious man, so he re-wires and fixes her panel, and when she finally wakes up she's so relieved to see Tony alive and everyone's like ???  
> Basically, Tony's her son (The scar is the operations bc the pregnancy went wrong). Yeah, not so good here at all. But I mean, imagine Howard Stark trying to save her, and that process going very wrong, and Hydra coming along and picking up the pieces.   
> So really, Ica, as an unfinished experiment, is the reason Hydra started at all.


End file.
